


Soft, dark, dreamless

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Horror, Death, M/M, Undead Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:44:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2622239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He digs his hands into the soft brown earth at the foot of the grave and whispers, “I’m sorry,” </p><p>He doesn’t doubt for a second that Loki can hear him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft, dark, dreamless

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from the second part of _Untrust Us_ (I'm halfway through, don't worry!) so I thought I'd write a quick, if not slightly disturbing, fic. You can blame The Birthday Massacre's new album for inspiring this.

Thor swallows, and feels the collar of his dress shirt cutting into his throat. It’s not right. He shouldn’t be here, kneeling in the cold dirt as people touch hands to his shoulder and murmur their condolences into his ear. 

He digs his hands into the soft brown earth at the foot of the grave and whispers, “I’m sorry,” 

He doesn’t doubt for a second that Loki can hear him.

 

The funeral is quick, concise. Loki would have laughed at them all, clutching their tissues and crying, telling Odin and Frigga how wonderful their son had been, what a bright future he’d had ahead of him. A future cut so cruelly, painfully short. 

Thor throws up in the bathroom twice before the service is over. 

 

He goes home, tumbles straight into bed. His parents don’t have the heart to make him go back to school just yet. He dreams of his brother, cold and unmoving below the ground. 

 

People send him cards. Lay flowers beside Loki’s grave. Everyone’s so _nice_ and it makes him want to scream. He doesn’t deserve this. Loki should be alive and smiling and this is all his fault – but people won’t accept it. ‘Don’t blame yourself’ they say, ‘It was an accident’ 

****

**_ac•ci•dent ( k s -d nt, -d nt )_ **  
**_n._ **  
**_1._ **  
**_a. An unexpected and undesirable event, especially one resulting in damage or harm_ **  
**_b. An unforeseen incident_ **

 

It doesn’t stop Thor from knowing it was all his fault.

 

 _‘Local student dies in tragic accident’_ the newspapers read, _‘Drowning victim identified as Loki Odinson_. Thor puts his computer away in the back of a cupboard, stops watching tv. He can’t go – cant look – anywhere without seeing a reminder of what he did. 

 

Some days, he wishes he was buried alongside his brother.

 

He visits the graveyard every week. If nothing else, it gives him an excuse to get out of the house for a while. Sometimes he takes presents – ornaments or pictures that he knows Loki would have loved. He desn’t take flowers because Loki wouldn’t want them. Besides, there’s enough already. People from school come and lay them down sometimes, sniffling and crying into one another’s shoulders and acting like they cared. 

Loki’s ex boyfriend is there nearly as often as Thor. He stands a little distance away, hands in his pockets and eyes red, just watching. He and Thor never exchange words.

 

‘It must be so hard for him,’ Thor hears people say, ‘Losing the one he loved.’ 

They’re talking about Svadilfari – not Thor – and it makes no sense. Because no one, not even Loki’s boyfriend, loved him half as much as Thor did. As much as Thor still does. Nobody thinks to mention that just weeks before Loki’s death, they’d broken up following an argument. Loki had never spoken to him after that. 

Thor doesn’t sleep much. When he does, he dreams of Loki. Sometimes his brother is the way he used to be, teasing and joking with a grin on his face. Most of the time, his eyes are dull and lips blue as he coughs up lungfuls of dirty water.

 

Odin and Frigga eventually send Thor to a bereavement councillor, because they think the way he’s acting is unhealthy. The way that _they_ seem to have moved on so fast makes him sick to the stomach.He can't let go. 

 

“You blame yourself for your brother’s death,” the councillor says to him, and when he laughs it sounds ugly and broken. 

“It was my fault. I should have been paying more attention to him,” Thor scrubs roughly at his eyes, willing the tears away, “He had asthma. I was supposed to make sure he didn’t have an attack when we were swimming,”

The councillor notes something down in his book. 

“I can’t stop thinking about what I could have done differently. If I’d just paid more attention to him-“ Thor can’t finish the sentence. The councillor passes him a box of tissues. 

“It was an accident. Nobody blames you,” he says evenly.

Thor snorts. “Loki would.”

The councillor waits a few moments, glancing back over his notes. He takes a breath, “I’d like to address something you mentioned in our last session, if that’s alright with you. You mentioned having...romantic feelings for your brother,” It’s posed as a question. 

“I-“ Thor swallows, “I can’t – I don’t want to talk about that,”

 

He tries so hard to forget. 

 

Thor goes back to school eventually – he can’t hide in his room forever. Summer turns to autumn; autumn turns to winter. The leaves turn red and fall from the trees where they’re eventually buried beneath inches of snow. 

He wonders if Loki’s cold, lying there, alone, beneath the frozen ground. They buried him in a suit. Thor had protested; told everyone that Loki should be dressed in clothes from his own wardrobe. But Frigga wanted him to look smart, so that’s what they did. 

The white of the shirt had matched the pallor of his skin. Thor couldn’t make himself look for long. 

His councillor tells him that he needs to come to terms with the fact that his brother is dead. 

“He’s not coming back, Thor. You need to allow yourself to move on,”

Thor doesn’t say anything.

Something about Loki’s grave feels different when Thor next visits. He sits against the headstone, shivering violently despite the coat and the scarf, and reads a chapter of Loki’s favourite book. 

He looks up at the sky. The air is crisp, clear, and so is the sky. He watches the stars until it’s too cold to stay out any longer. For the first time since Loki’s funeral, Thor dreams of nothing. 

 

Thor’s alone in the house when the bell rings. He hesitates when he steps into the hall. The silhouette is in plain view through the glass, and it doesn’t seem real. It cant be. 

He makes himself open the door, and there's Loki - standing on the top step. He smiles. 

“Did you miss me?” he asks. 

Thor stares at him and feels like he’s going to be sick. Loki’s eyes are unfocused, his skin pale and waxy, tinged blue just under the surface. The suit he was buried in is rumpled and torn and smeared with dirt. 

“Do let me in,” Loki says, his voice curls like smoke, “It’s freezing,” 

Loki never needed anybody’s permission to do what he wanted. In death, it seems, nothing much has changed. He brushes past his brother’s shoulder without a word, and Thor catches the scent of wet earth clinging to his skin. 

“Where are our parents?” Loki asks, spinning in a slow circle. Thor shuts the door and watches him for a moment. His hair hangs in greasy locks around his face. It’s grown since he was buried. Thor looks down at his hands. His nails are dirty, so long now that they’re starting to look more like claws. 

“They’re out,” he answers, swallowing down the lump in his throat, “It’s just us,” 

“Mm,” Loki turns back to him, “Just you and me,” 

Thor’s finding it difficult to look at him right now. The wave of nausea hasn’t dissipated just yet. “Why – why are you here?” 

“Aren’t you pleased to see me?” 

“You’re supposed to be dead,” 

Loki’s expression twists into something grotesque, made ten times worse by the obvious decomposition of his skin. “Oh, I know. You made sure of that, _brother_ ,”

That hurts. He knew it was true, but hearing Loki say it makes Thor’s heart feel like it’s breaking all over again, and he curls in on himself, unable to contain the sobs that make him gag and shudder until his pulse is throbbing in his skull. 

 

Loki slides into bed once the lights are out and their parents are asleep. He feels like winter as he curls against Thor’s back and nuzzles into his hair. He breathes in deeply, and Thor shudders. 

“I missed you,” he says, and it sounds sincere, “I’ve been so lonely,” 

Thor wants to tell Loki how he hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten properly in months. Wants to tell him how guilty he’s been, how much he regrets what happened that day at the lake, but his throat feels tight and he doesn’t trust his voice. 

He finds Loki’s hand. It’s clammy cold beneath the warmth of his own skin, and his nails are brittle and sharp, but it’s there, and it’s Loki, so he squeezes it tight, and feels his brother smile. His other hand digs into the flesh of Thor’s shoulder. 

“You don’t need to worry,” he says, “You and I will never be rid of one another,”


End file.
